My Fault?
by mbenson
Summary: Fault, with a twist! Perhaps more than one twist? I suppose you'll have to read and find out! Rating might change if you all want me to continue with the story.


**I hope you enjoy my alternative ending, and middle? to the episode Fault. It already has so many Bensler feels, so naturally I have to add more! As usual, I do not own the characters, SVU, or some of the dialogue taken out of the script. Reviews mean everything to me! Enjoy! **

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**"The Fight"**

_Instant - there was no time to react. She was down in a second, her head crashing to the solid ground. One would assume her skull would've shattered with the impact. He saw it all: the knife slashing her neck, her hands clutching the wound as she was knocked to the ground, surrounded by a throng of people as she lay there, breathing heavily, bleeding out. He acted - rushing to her side, with one thought on his mind. Save her. _Her. _Olivia. She couldn't die, she couldn't. Not like this. He screamed. His voice echoed among the crowd of terrified voices. He dropped down beside her after shoving people out of his way. His heart was thrashing in his chest, creating thunder inside of him, and his hands were shaking while hers clutched her neck. The gash, the blood, the pain. She had to live. She couldn't die. She couldn't._

_But she was okay._

_She wasn't dying. She didn't need him. Ryan, the little boy, needed him. And now he's dead._

He's dead.

Olivia is watching him. She sees his contemplation. "Is there something you want to say to me?" she asks. "Because if you do, then let's hear it," she insists.

He answers instantly. "Why didn't you shoot Gitano?" he quips.

"He was using the child as a shield," she nearly gasps. He knows this; he saw.

"How could you let him get so close to you?" he retorts, blaming her. He's blaming her, as his eyes glance down to the stitches in her neck and back up to her eyes. They're red, with black circles underneath them - unmistakable signs of exhaustion and stress.

"There were innocent civilians around. I couldn't get a shot." '_You know this, Elliot,' _she is tempted say as she grinds her teeth together. _Don't do this, _she begs him, as if he could hear what she is thinking.

"Well, you got close, and Ryan's dead." His voice is cold and bitter. He's glowering at her, his irises burning with accusation and disappointment.

"So this is my fault?" she asks, in disbelief that he would even consider blaming her for the death of Ryan.

He turns his back to her, ignoring the question. "I can't do this anymore. I can't be looking over my shoulder making sure you're okay!" he shouts, storming away from her. It takes her a moment to register his accusatory words, but she retaliates quickly, harshly.

"You son-of-a-bitch, you know that's not true!" Her voice matches his - indignant, hurtful, sour - as she spits the venom back at him. He whips around to face her and approaches her with loud footsteps. She nearly flinches, expecting a smack, with his hand raised in the air and his jaw clenched.

"I need to know you can do your job and not wait for me to come to the rescue!" he bites, with his nostrils, flaring; his neck, tense; and his voice, poisonous and sharp.

His words are a slap enough, perhaps more painful than a physical smack could cause. She realizes he doesn't trust her. After seven years, he doesn't trust her, and he doesn't care. She's a burden to him - excess baggage - that he doesn't deserve to carry. It hurts to discover what a waste you are to someone after you thought you meant something. He backs up one step and is about to leave her alone in the crowded room with nothing but her self-deprecating thoughts, but her cracking voice stops him.

"It would've just been so much easier if that knife just went a little deeper, wouldn't it have?" The words are quiet and filled with anguish.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His face is reddened. His voice hasn't lowered. In fact, it's grown louder, angrier.

She clears her throat, regaining composure and confidence in her voice. Once again, she matches his pitch. "It sure would've saved you a lot of trouble! You wouldn't have to watch out for me all the time!" There is a burning sensation in her neck, but she refuses to show him any more vulnerability by complaining. She's strong. He doesn't believe in her strength. She's too weak for him. But she knows she's strong. She can fight back.

And at this moment, it hits him. She thinks he finds her worthless, insignificant to him. As usual, he wasn't thinking clearly. He lost his words to anger, and they came out too harsh, too malicious.

His voice softens this time. "You think I wish that bastard kil-" He trails off, not being able to finish his question. He couldn't think that way, to think about losing her. He already thought about her dyi...losing her, enough today; he can't consider the thought anymore, but it engraves itself in his mind. The redness visible in his cheeks softens to a pale color, and he nearly chokes over the unbearable thoughts. She's standing in front of him, alive, flesh and blood. She's okay. "_I'm okay," as she's bleeding out in front of him._

She notices his change in behavior. He's considering it. The thought is a dagger to her heart. "I know you do. You said it yourself that you're sick of having to watch out for me! I'm just a burden to you and everyone else, and it would be so much easier if I were just-"

She was silenced by his aggressive lips claiming hers and his hands gripping the sides of her face. She's surprised, frozen, but the heat of his lips against hers thaws the hesitation, and she returns the aggression of his kiss. For the moment, everything else is forgotten. The case, the little boy, the little girl, her colleagues, the anger. Everything disappears. It is just her and Elliot, fighting a war of hate, love, and passion. His teeth gnash against hers, bruising her lips; and his thumbs, leave imprints on her cheeks, as if letting her go will make her vanish with everything else. She can't breathe - oxygen is abandoned as well. She sighs against him, letting out all the vicious emotions she had been feeling. Even though the kiss was animalistic, she is able to relax against him, until they both are in desperate _need _of refilling their lungs.

When he pulls away, she hesitates to open her eyes and find his. But they're staring intently into hers, and they are no longer angry. She's struggling to breathe as his hands are still holding her cheeks with pressure. She can feel a light bruise forming on her cheek, and her tongue softly runs along her swollen lips to discover a small drop of blood.

The noise of the bull pen becomes evident again, and the sound of a clearing throat rings in her ears. She remembers her surroundings. The case, the little girl, her _partner._

Her eyes widen, and her tongue once more traces her lips absentmindedly. "What the hell was that?" _Oh, God. _Everyone is staring.

"I couldn't let you finish that fucking sentence. Don't you ever talk or even think that way again, do you hear me, Olivia? You're important." He's serious, and she believes him. When she nods once with a whispered _okay_, he harshly drops his hands back to his side and takes a step back.

"If you two are _done,_" Cragen barks, "there's still a little girl out there with Gitano, if she's still alive, and you need to go do your damn jobs and find her. Now!"

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**Should I write Part 2, "The Choice" ? Let me know in reviews!**


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